Chapter Sixteen
“Gah. This place is like a sauna.”
After she got home from work, Etta opened up all the doors and windows in the house to air it out. It wasn’t quite hot enough to switch on the AC, but not cool enough to close the windows either.
She didn’t feel like making anything for dinner, so she grabbed some cantaloupe and cottage cheese from the fridge, along with a beer.
Etta planned on staying up until Pretty Boy arrived. She’d texted him on and off throughout the day to touch base. Earlier, she’d tried calling him, but music blared so loud in the bar, she couldn’t hear a thing.
In the meantime, she kept busy. Etta washed the dishes, did a load of laundry, and packed her lunch for tomorrow, as well as other chores around the house.
Around eight o’ clock, the screen door creaked as it opened.
Tensing, she seized the gun and her phone and headed into the kitchen. Grady stood a few feet away from her. He leaned against the counter.
Oh no.
Etta backed away from him. She dialed 9-1-1. Right before she hit send, he held up a hand, and she stopped. For now.
“Easy. I didn’t come here to make trouble.”
“Well, I will. If you step even an inch closer, you’ll be sorry. What did you come for?” Her finger hovered over the button.
“To talk.” He lit a cigarette, and stepped further inside, into the light. Etta was secretly thrilled to see Grady had some cuts and scrapes on his hands and purplish bruises in the shape of fingertips on his throat. Justice had done a number on him, and she was almost sorry she’d broken it up.
“About what? Violatin’ your parole by comin’ over here?” Etta clasped the gun with the other hand and pulled it out. “Talk fast, and if you come even one step closer, I’ll finish what I started a long time ago.” The steel felt good in her hands, like a lifeline. Strange, since it was an instrument of death.
A muscle worked in his jaw. “I wanted to clear the air. I shouldn’t have given you a hard time.”
“O-okay.” Etta was thrown by his sudden change of behavior. What kind of mind fuck is this? Etta didn’t buy this act, yet she didn’t know what to do. But if he wasn't going to be hostile, then neither would she. For now.
“I’m serious. Instead of harrassin’ you, I should be focusin’ on gettin’ my life together. I wasted enough time already.”
“You’re not wrong.”
His lips twisted. “Anyway, I’m lookin’ out for number one now.”
Didn’t he always?
“All right.”
He stared at her for the longest time. It was unnerving.
“I wish we’d never met.”
“Likewise.”
“Guess we can’t change the past, huh?”
“No, all we can do is deal with it, and move on.”
He paused, as though considering it. “Well, it’s what I intend to do.”
“Run it by me one more time.” She must have imagined this whole thing.
“I’m sayin’ it’s all over. You and your new boyfriend, don’t gotta worry about me anymore.” He rubbed his jaw. “I didn’t even tell my parole officer he roughed me up.”
So the police wouldn’t be charging Justice with assault. Thank God.
“Um, great.”
This was so bizarre. Grady seemed remorseful and rational, too. Did he have a change of heart because of Justice’s ass-kicking? Maybe he had a head injury, and it knocked some sense into him.
“See?” He nodded. “No hard feelin’s and everybody gets a fresh start.”
“That’s the gist.” She didn’t know about the first bit, but she agreed with the second. Etta wanted nothing more to do with him.
“I’m not gonna say I’m sorry.”
“Because we both know you aren’t.” Grady had loved every second of terrorizing her.
“No.” He smirked. “Hmm, this will be the last time we’ll be seein’ each other.” He held out his hand. “Take care.”
Something about the way he said it, bothered her. They both lived in a small town, so inevitably they’d run into one another. Although, it would be nice if he ignored her when their paths crossed.
Then she remembered his outstretched hand. Did he want to shake on it?
“I appreciate the gesture, but no.”
“Let me guess, you got no desire to touch me again?”
She didn't respond.
“Goodnight then.” And then he walked out the door and presumably out of her life.
As soon as Grady drove off in his Ford, she shut all the doors and windows and locked them up tight, then texted Pretty Boy and told him what happened.
Want me to come over now? I’ll get somebody to cover my shift.
Etta hesitated, pondering taking him up on the offer, but he’d be here in a few more hours. Besides, Grady hadn’t started anything, so the dangerous part was over. He’d never backed down from hurting her before.
No, he left, and I’m fine. It was just really weird.
Think he’s up to something?
Hope not.
Me too. Keep me posted.
***
Etta turned over in bed. She hovered somewhere between consciousness and sleep.
She’d given up on staying awake to meet Pretty Boy around midnight. She’d instructed him to call when he got to the front door instead, and she’d let him in. Etta had been up since dawn and was exhausted.
That’s when she smelled it, an acrid scent.
She sniffed, trying to identify the odor.
Smoke!
A hazy sort of smog hung suspended in the corners of the room. An orange glow illuminated the room.
Oh, my God. Her house was on fire!
And that’s when the smoke alarm above her bed started to shriek.
“Great. Thanks for the warnin’.”
She ran for the door, but when she tried the handle, the metal scorched her fingers. Hissing in pain, she backed away.
Etta frantically tried to remember her elementary school fire safety training. Hadn’t the firefighters said something about never opening a hot door?
So she kicked a pair of jeans from the laundry basket under the crack to slow the spread of smoke. Then she grabbed a discarded T-shirt and held it over her nose and mouth.
Down the hallway, she heard the crackling pop of flames.
And then it dawned on her—there weren’t any windows in this room. I’m trapped, and there’s no way out.
This was exactly like her dream.
Etta dashed over to the nightstand and seized her phone, but it slipped out of her grip and thunked down on the floor. She tried to reach again, but the smoke blurred her vision. So she got down on her hands and felt for it. It had fallen just underneath the bed, and she could almost reach the edge.
Finally, she yanked it out and called 911.
“This is 911. What’s the nature of your emergency?”
She babbled all of the information, and the operator assured her the fire department was on the way. But most of them were volunteers, and they didn’t have many fires in Hell, despite the fiery name.
For a moment, she considered calling Justice but decided against it. He’d already been through a lot today. She’d tell him tomorrow morning. Instead, Etta called Pretty Boy, but he didn’t pick up.
Only then, did she try Justice, but it went straight to voicemail. He must have turned off his phone.
I’m alone in this.
And then the door burst into flames, snapping and sizzling.
Nowhere to go. Nowhere to run.
The blaze was getting higher and hotter, spreading up to the ceiling, crawling up the walls. The room would be engulfed in a few minutes.
For a moment, she gaped at the fire, not really grasping what she was seeing. It was so surreal. Until flames crept across the floor and ignited the coverlet, snapping her out of the stupor.
Etta dashed into the closet and shut the door behind her. She pulled down clothing from the hangers and shoved them beneath the door, to keep the smoke out. Then she pressed her back against the cool tile, and folded her knees to her chest, curling herself into a small ball.
“I got this. It’s all good. They’ll be here any second,” she muttered, trying to reassure herself.
Etta kept the shirt wadded around her face. The room had become unbearably hot, and it was thick with smoke. Her breath came in pants and tears dribbled down her cheeks.
Please don’t let me die like this, not after everything I’ve been through.
No, don’t fall apart. Keep it together, be rational. Remember what Justice said, you’re a survivor.
Now think, dammit.
What the crap had happened? Had she left the stove on? A candle? Sometimes she lit one while she bathed, but tonight Etta had taken a shower.
And then it hit her—the most obvious culprit.
Grady had done this.
If she hadn’t been so terrified, Etta would’ve thought of it sooner. Grady had always threatened to burn her, and now he’d gotten his wish.
In the distance, she heard the sirens. The fire department must be on its way.
Hurry.
Etta pulled the cell phone from her back pocket and dialed Justice with shaking hands. It went straight to voicemail again, but she didn’t care. Etta clutched the phone to her ear, and listened to his voice, asking her to leave a message. A beep sounded, and she didn’t know what to say, so she hung up, and then dialed again. The deep timbre of his voice calmed her, even if it was only a recording.
The closet door began to smolder. The clothing beneath the doorway burst into flames. She coughed as smoke billowed into the enclosed space, choking her.
This is it.
Etta only had minutes, maybe seconds left.